Don't Forget the Patronymic
by leave your sanity at the door
Summary: 2 part sequel to Dogzilla, set in an unspecified time. It's all go for the Lux Atlantic's duty manager. Lisa is learning Russian and is given an impromptu lesson by an unexpected guest. Rated M for the downright obvious. Comedy/smut/random crazies.
1. Chapter 1

_- I do not own anything from Red Eye. Copyright Wes Craven, Carl Ellsworth et al._

_- *, **, ***NB: Kozlov, Olegovich and Volodya are pronounced Kazlov, Alyegavich and Valodya, respectively._

_- Mat' (not to be confused with mat – mother) is Russian swearing culture. Alongside Quebecois, it is one of the most fascinating slang lexicons on the planet._

_- random lyrics from "Starry Eyed" by Ellie Goulding, and "Howl" by Florence & the Machine_

* * *

Being a hotel duty manager had its pros and cons; an excuse to inspect accommodations was one that fitted both categories. Being on call 24/7 was another. Naturally, she had to respond to customers' concerns about their rooms, and ensure them in person if need be that quality standards were being met, or do her level best to satisfy them. With some customers she was in and out in the blink of an eye, but there were others – the Taylors, for instance - who would invariably keep her a while. Mr. *Kozlov was of the latter variety.

Mr. Seth **Olegovich Kozlov. First generation Russian-American, boasting an all American first name to prove it, but the patronymic was essential. He may have been raised in New York state but it was Russian blood running through his veins. And Russians, she was told, were very particular about things. Fussy, you could say. Even American-raised ones.

She had been summoned – summoned – personally to his penthouse suite because he was unhappy with the furnishings. On her break, no less. Normally, break was an opportunity to unwind a little, a tiny pause to de-stress and recoup some well needed energy, but good old Seth Olegovich had other ideas for her. He wanted to make her work for her money every hour God sent. Work it work it baby.

Of course, he had picked precisely the right day to strike. With several front desk staff calling in sick that very morning, having no-one ready to stand in, she and Cynthia had been forced to take over their positions and work the AM shift in addition to their normal PM one. It seemed likely they would both have to fill in part of the night shift, too. It wasn't something thrust upon Lisa often, but when it did happen, it was always on one of _those_ days. Murphy's Law never did things by half.

Due to that morning's schedule being particularly hectic, she had postponed her lunch hour to 2pm. Mercifully, Mr. Kozlov hadn't taken umbrage. Whether she would get back in time to eat, however, didn't seem likely. She would have to make an excuse upon returning, rush to the toilet and wolf down a few cereal bars whilst sequestered in a cubicle. Cereal bars were a staple of managerial life for her, accompanying her every day in the event that guests such as the Taylors and Mr. Kozlov showed up. You never knew when such simple things would come in handy.

It was 1:55pm now, and after bidding Cynthia and Lois adieu for the time being, she had nipped into the downstairs canteen for a quick coffee. Chugging the hot liquid back, she cursed her rumbling stomach. Had it not been entirely unprofessional, she could have eaten a cereal bar now, on her way to Mr. Kozlov's suite. The last morsel that had passed her lips was a yoghurt at 4am, after having awoken at 2:45am and being unable to get back to sleep. Awakening at such an ungodly hour continued to be a regular occurrence for her. Nowadays, however, it wasn't scrambled eggs that called to her; it was breakfast in bed, or a full on feast.

"I don't just like eggs, you know," she had said upon his first stopover at her place, her fingers traipsing lazily up and down his bare chest, "I like bananas, too."

"Hey!" he exclaimed, feigning outrage, "What am I to you? A piece of...fruit?"

"Yes. And?"

He shrugged, laughing.

"For you, Leese, but only for you, I'm happy to be objectified. It'll be soul destroying, but I'm sure I can do it."

"Good," she said curtly, beaming.

Today's 2:45am menu was a banana, after which sleep proved impossible for her, and so she had sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee and studying Russian. Her interest in the language had been piqued when she and Jackson had been discussing his surname.

"Back in the Tex Mex, when you told me your name... were you joking?"

"Nope," he shook his head.

"I thought people like you always used fake IDs and such?"

"Not necessarily. However... you _are_ onto something."

"Oh?"

"My name's my real name, but two generations ago the surname was different. My paternal grandfather's family emigrated to the States from Russia in the 1920's, and in order to fit in they anglicized the name from Rybakov to Rippner."

"Really? Wow. Why did they emigrate?"

"Bolshevik Revolution. If you were anti Bolshevik in any way shape or form, you had to go. Which they were, so they went. My _dyedushka_ – grandfather – he's still going strong. He's the life and soul of parties, I can tell you. Keeps people for hours, telling them his life story. It's fascinating stuff, even if you've heard it a gazillion times. He remembers every little detail like it was yesterday."

"That's amazing."

"Yeah, it is. And, you know, even though his family fled their homeland and made a good life for themselves here, they never lost their cultural identity, and they instilled that identity – that pride - into later generations. My father grew up bilingual, and even bi-cultural, you might say. He even married a Russian woman. My siblings and I were all given Russian middle names and were raised bilingual... although I was a bit of a rebel and kind of rejected the bi-cultural part, until I graduated from college, that is."

"What's your middle name?"

"Nikolai. Kolya for short. Amongst my Russian friends I'm known as Kolya."

"Kolya," she repeated, luxuriating in the sensation of the name rolling off her tongue like tiny ripples, "that sounds like a really cool name."

"Here, yeah. But it's pretty bog-standard in Russia. Everyone's a Kolya or Sasha or Masha or ***Volodya. Those are all nicknames, by the way. Russians love their nicknames."

"Do you still speak Russian with your parents?"

"With my parents, yes, but normally English with my siblings... unless we're at a family gathering, and then my dad wouldn't hesitate to pulverise me for not speaking Russian."

"Teach me it."

"Seriously?"

"Yes. I've always wanted to a learn a language."

"Well... Russian's pretty complicated, and I'm not so sure I'd make a good teacher."

"I don't care. Teach me it."

"You'd be better off taking a course and asking me for help if you need it."

"When do I have time for courses? Honestly. And I thought you liked challenges?"

"I do, but... it's a difficult language. It really is... "

"I like challenges, too."

"And I'm not so hot on grammar."

"Minor insignificance. And just think, we could talk dirty to each other in Russian. We could yell obscenities at youtube videos in Russian. We could yell expletives at _one another_ in Russian!"

"Ah, I see you," he said with a wry smile, "You just wanna learn the naughty words, don't you?"

"No, but they would be a great start, don't you think?"

And so, the very much improvised Russian lessons had begun. That it was a difficult language, was no underestimation; the Cyrillic alphabet, both printed and cursive, was only the beginning. The grammar seemed endlessly convoluted, and trying to wrap her mono-lingual tongue around the words, imitating his pitch perfect accent, was nigh on impossible. Nevertheless, she enjoyed it, and hearing him speak it enthralled her. He had remarked on how funny it was that his parents had chosen all-American names for their children, yet pronounced them in Russian; "Even my dad calls me Dzhaxon," he had laughed, "d, z and h, not J. And one of my sisters is Dzhennifer."

There was the very occasional Russian phone conversation with his associates, which he had no problem having her sit in on, but never offered to translate. Just as well. They mostly always spoke in English, he said; they welcomed the opportunity to practice, especially with someone who could correct their errors in their own language. 'Training', he called it. He wasn't the best teacher but he didn't do too badly at correcting errors.

Today, he would be giving her an altogether different Russian lesson; in customer service.

She hadn't seen it coming. Preoccupied with a phone booking and staring at the computer screen, she was unaware of his presence. The moment she ended the call and straightened herself up to find him stood not a meter from her, conversing with Cynthia, her heart nearly launched itself out of her chest. As Cynthia was taking the booking, she was mercifully afforded those much needed seconds to try and regain composure. However, the damage was already done, and he had seen it. His gaze flickered to hers, held her for a few infinitesimally drawn out seconds – that lethal, soul-penetrating stare - then, with the beginnings of a knowledgeable smirk, darted back to Cynthia.

A heavy duty suitcase beside him, he was dressed formally in a suave, slate grey tailored suit that accentuated his slim form. No tie, white shirt unbuttoned at the first two notches to fully expose his neck. She noted the occasional small red mark beneath his chin, where he had again nicked himself shaving. She preferred the more laid back, slightly unshaven him; but today he obviously had to make an impression, so he had gone all out on the personal grooming.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Kozlov," Cynthia chirped, her tone more animate than usual, betraying a paroxysm of nerves. Hiding behind her usual veneer of imperturbability, Lisa battled to suppress the prickly pang of laughter that was straining like horses against the reins to break free. Whether it was the deceptively gentle smile, the crystalline ice-blue eyes, the boyish freckles, the easy going and sinfully flirtatious manner, or the set of him as a whole, he had a devastating effect on women and he wielded it to his advantage. Had he been several inches taller he could have made it as a runway model. As it was, he had to settle for unofficial 'actor'.

"Mr. Kozlov?" Lisa chimed in, still grappling with the urge to degenerate into a hormonal mess, "Russian, I suppose?"

"Correct," he smiled, nodding, "well, my parents are Russian. I grew up in New York State."

"Oh. Bilingual?"

"I am indeed. Why?"

"I'm learning Russian. I only just started, really."

"The _mat_', I suppose?" he deadpanned.

She stifled a giggle, "Oh no, no. Just the regular stuff."

"But at least you know what mat' is, eh," he replied with a subtly impish smile, "that's the important part."

She was snatched away by a phone call, but kept glancing over at him as Cynthia completed the booking and handed him the electronic key. His attention, however, never wavered from her colleague. Poor Cynthia.

"Enjoy your stay, Mr. Kozlov," she heard the younger woman say, a little breathless.

"Thank you," he replied, his seek-and-destroy gaze momentarily gracing Lisa's before he casually strode off.

_Hit hit hit hit hit me with lightning..._

The moment Lisa put the phone down, Cynthia was already sidling up to her, gawking.

"You're learning Russian?" she whispered, "How come you never told me?"

Despite being a friend as well as a colleague, there was a lot Cynthia didn't know about Lisa; which, effectively, just about summed up Lisa's relationships with most people. Jackson was the exception, and scarily, what he didn't know about her she found herself actually wanting to tell him. Not that withholding any information from him would have seemed like a betrayal, but that, simply, he was so easy to talk to. Her ease with him wasn't something she felt entirely comfortable with; it was almost like being lulled into a false sense of security, as if hypnotized. However, given their history, it wasn't all that strange; maybe it was even to be expected. She chose not to dwell on it.

"I wanted it to be a surprise" she replied, deliberately underplaying it, "At the moment I'm just easing myself into it. If and when I started getting anywhere near competent, that's when I wanted to suddenly come out and surprise everyone. So ssshh, OK!"

Cynthia gave a comical salute; "I haven't heard anything!" she said with a wink. "But my God, Leese. That guy...!"

"Mmm hmm!" Lisa nodded, chuckling under her breath at the younger woman's twinkling eyes.

"Did you hear any of our conversation?"

"Nope."

"Big spender. Asked for a penthouse suite..."

"For how long?"

"He said provisionally just one night, although he may stay longer. It's all very up in the air right now; apparently there's a bug infestation in his basement and the place is being fumigated. Could be anything from a day to 72 hours. Anyway, so I put him in 4090..."

4090 was one of the newly refurbished duplexes; a 2000 sq foot wonder kitted out in polished white marble floors, contemporary white panelled walls and gracefully sculpted furniture courtesy of the Aaron R. Thomas studio. Among many luxuries, it boasted 2 spacious bathrooms and bedrooms, wall to wall ocean views, a generous balcony with a lavish outdoor jacuzzi and a $63k Lomme pod, and access to one of the VIP rooftop pools. Its other spectacular myriad of amenities included a holy trinity of 24 hour services - concierge, room and laundry - a Bose surround-sound system, and a private elevator. It was also the one with the dubious honour of having an unintentionally comedic doorbell. All in all, a bargain for $5250 per night. The Lux's penthouses, whilst incomparable with the mind-blowing opulence of the Setai and the Raleigh, were nevertheless of a certain prestige. Forbes magazine had even listed them in their Miami hot list, and in so far as reviews went they occupied a permanent ranking within the top 5 SoFi (South of Fifth) hotels.

"And ohmygod, he must have done his homework on us because he straight out ordered the Krug Clos du Mesnil '98..."

Lisa's eyes widened. Only the second most expensive Krug champagne available, and the dearest one on the Lux's menu at a little over $1k per 75cl bottle. Few bought it; the Japanese, mainly, and the wealthiest of American businesspeople. Everyone else seemed content with Dom Pérignon or Cristal, which, although costly, seemed mainstream by comparison. Krug was the champagne industry's elite.

"He said he's expecting a guest tonight, around 9pm."

What a coincidence. Lisa's shift was meant to finish at 9. A little voice in her head gave a joyous whoop, and she couldn't help but smile to herself.

Between his criminal enterprise and some savvy investing in the stock market, Jackson made good money, and he wasn't afraid to use or flaunt it when given the chance; especially where Lisa was concerned. Lisa; Queen of Getting Your Everyman On. Modest house, modest car, frequenter of TJ Max, Target and DSW, and wearer of functional cotton underwear. Why he did it on her account she wasn't entirely sure, as he knew fine well that her affection couldn't be bought. Perhaps he wanted to keep impressing her, regardless? Perhaps he was simply generous to his loved ones? Or perhaps simply because he _could? _All the same, it would be dishonest to say she didn't enjoy it. Every girl dreamed of being spoiled rotten, and underneath it all Lisa was no exception. In some absurd, cruelly advantageous way, it could almost be classed as a form of karmic remuneration for her putting up with his job; even though in reality, it wasn't. Well, not quite. For all his arrogance and vanity – and there was no denying either of those traits - the Outside of Work Jackson was a very likeable person. Furthermore, that very arrogance and vanity – that distinct alpha maleness – was in itself attractive. Jackson was a natural, smooth with it and wearing it well. Unnervingly, it made her crave being at his mercy. Funny to think how the very things she had detested about him on the 1019 flight had become arousal triggers.

"I wonder who she is!" Cynthia gushed, "Japanese model? That would explain the Krug. Or a high class hooker. Or an oligarch's daughter. Or... I don't know... Whoever she is, she's a lucky lady."

"How you can be sure it's a she?"

The two shared a laugh.

Cynthia slumped a little, sighing; "Oh, I wish I had a man who could do that for me."

"Don't we all!"

Half an hour later, Cynthia had picked up that all important call from Mr. Kozlov, summoning the duty manager to his suite when she had a free moment. He hadn't complained, as such, but apparently the room wasn't fully to his satisfaction - something to do with the furninshings - although he hadn't specified exactly how or why. Cynthia didn't get it. Lisa did. Or at least, she hoped she did. Jackson was an awful tease at times; that he was staying at her hotel was enough to get her motor running, and he knew this only too well. Yet, it wouldn't be out of the question for him to lure her to his room for an hour of something completely innocuous, such as board games, keeping her on tenter hooks until the evening. Invariably, the payoff was worth the wait; but oh, that wait was pure torture. Thanks to him, she understood what it was to be addicted; to want someone so utterly and completely that to be apart from them was almost unbearable.

_If you could only see the beast you've made of me... screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart. _

He had done this to her; life-ruining, world-wrecking bastard that he was. Creeping into her head was only the beginning of it. Just the thought of him, sending the drum in her chest onto spin cycle when she went grocery shopping and passed by anything even vaguely phallic shaped. Making her knees weaken at the mere mention of grapefruit, pineapple, or eggs, in whatever context. Interrupting her shift by casually making an appearance in her thoughts and parading around naked, when her mind should be occupied with work matters. This, and so much more, was his revenge. You didn't mess with Jackson Rippner and get away with it. Somehow or other, he always won, eventually. And he held grudges.

Even though her Manager Face said otherwise, the journey to the 40th floor felt like interminable agony. Worse still was the sudden head rush that beset her the moment she stepped out of the elevator, sweeping over her with such force that for an instant she felt giddy and nearly tripped over her own feet. Blood pounded furiously against her temples in a relentless swooshing of formless white noise. It throbbed in her jugular and her wrists. And against her will, it was already accumulating in places further south. A few steps forward and her senses went into overdrive. Suddenly, her modest heels felt like stilettos on icy ground, and her fitted suit uncomfortably close. Her blazer was stiflingly restrictive, the material of her blouse chaffed her goose-pimpled skin, and the pencil skirt that normally hugged her curvy hips so reassuringly now seemed to be constricting. Her underwear, too, had become an encumbrance, and she was acutely aware of the cotton brushing her labia and erect nipples as she walked. Whilst not an unpleasurable sensation, she nevertheless yearned to be free of it.

*_Fuck you, 'Seth Olegovich Kozlov,' for making me feel this way.*_

But she wasn't exactly blameless. Whilst Kozlov was one of his false IDs, it had been her idea for him to 'accost' her, although she hadn't specified how or when. One lazy night in the midst of a South Park marathon, she had suggested they role play a situation in which they were complete strangers meeting by chance, and he would steal her away somehow and do terrible, beautiful things to her. Aforementioned lazy night was only 5 days ago. Typical Jackson; taking her by surprise.

Making it it to no.4090 in one piece seemed little short of a miracle, but she did it, celebrating with a congratulatory mini whoop as she pressed the door bell. Yes, a mini whoop. On her work time. In front of the cameras. Something unthinkable to the Lisa Reisert of pre-flight 1019. Her post-flight 1019 counterpart, however, was given to random flares of not so subtle teenage behaviour.

One thing she had no cause to celebrate, however, was the battle that continued to rage in her chest and race incessantly through her veins, and the disconcerting flutter of invisible wings in her stomach. Kozlov was, ostensibly, a customer, and duty managers had a reputation to uphold; they didn't get up to naughties even in the stock rooms with fellow employees, let alone customers.

But no; Kozlov was a unique case. After all, how many suitcase lugging people arbitrarily strode into a premier hotel at peak morning period, book a penthouse suite and outright order a $1k bottle of champagne? How often were penthouse suites not booked up? More pertinently, how many people no doubt had their associates hacked into a hotel's mainframe computer to find precisely when certain rooms were available, and probably sneak into their lover's house and steal a load of their clothes (if indeed they were clothes in the suitcase, and it wasn't merely for show)? So yes, Kozlov was indeed a unique case, and for that he warranted special treatment. Ah, things were so easy to rationalize away when you knew how.

The solid core wooden door opened with an airy swoosh, and there he was. Fully clothed, though, not even having quit himself of his suit jacket or shoes. His normal citrus cologne – the fragrance that she had come to identify definitively as 'Jackson ' - had been replaced with something a little sweeter, with vague hints of chocolate.

"Mr. Kozlov," she said, forcing her most professional smile, "is this a good time?"

"Perfect," he replied cordially, gesturing for her to enter.

She stepped inside, keeping a good meter distance from him as he closed the door after her. Too far, possibly, overcompensating for the sudden explosion of prickly heat between them. Electro-charged particles danced in the air. Pheromones jumped back and forth from his body to hers, ever steadily growing in number and impact and threatening to knock her over.

*_Calm down*,_ she told herself firmly, rocking back very slightly on her heels. The movement helped to relax her, if only a little.

"So, Mr. Kozlov," she started, her heels clacking on the shiny marble floor as they walked through the ample foyer into the even more ample living room, "what seems to be the problem?"

He perched on the mitred edge of the Lucite dining table. Lisa noted the large, covered silver platter, the Krug sitting pretty in its ice bucket, and the two champagne flutes.

"Let me be frank, Miss Reisert," he replied, fixing her with an unflinching stare, "I appreciate you're a busy lady, so I won't beat about the bush. This suite is amazing. Stunning. And so far the service is absolutely top notch. But it lacks a certain something. Namely, _you_."

He stood up.

"Naked."

One step toward her.

"With me."

Another step.

"On the table."

Another step.

"Against the wall. On the rug. On the couch. Against the window. In the shower..."

Closer, closer, closer still. She however, startled by his unapologetic boldness, couldn't move. She stood there routed to the spot like a deer in the headlights as he advanced on her in slow motion.

"And maybe even in the bed?"

They were face to face, their bodies mere centimetres from touching. His presence was so overpowering that she thought for a moment she might actually faint.

"Well," she said coolly, although her composure was faltering, paddling frantically like ducks' legs to keep the veneer afloat, "That's certainly an...unusual...request..."

She paused to clear her throat, whilst aiming to avert his gaze but failing miserably against the iron grip of those eyes, the colour of iced cornflowers.

"But... Well," she continued, and seemingly with a mind of their own, her hands strayed to his chest and began toying with his lapels, whilst his sneaked to her waist and then around to the small of her back, "I'm sure it can be easily rectified."

"Really?"

"Yes, of course. Right now, in fact. Impeccable is the watch word here at Lux Atlantic; first and foremost with customer service."

"But you particularly, go above and beyond the call of duty, don't you? I can tell."

He pulled her closer, into him, so that their nether regions were touching. To her delight, he was already boasting a semi. She wriggled slightly, brushing herself against it, trying to excite him further. Her own sex organ responded graciously, a warm and pleasant wetness seeping into her panties.

"Well, it's my job to ensure customer satisfaction," she said, gyrating her hips "I do what I can; whatever is within my means. And this is certainly within my means. I guarantee you will not be disappointed."

His gentle smile was one of smug assurance; "I knew I'd picked the right place to stay, Miss Reisert."

"Oh, call me Lisa, please. Seeing as we're going to become intimately acquainted."

"And you can call me Seth Olegovich. Or just Seth, I don't mind. But, uh... before we get down to problem solving, how about we have something to eat and drink first?"

"I'd love to, but I've got less than a hour to be back at front desk."

"You must be hungry through?"

"It's okay. I can take care of it later."

"Sure?"

"Yes. It's fine, really."

"Fair enough. This," he gestured to the lavish display, "will keep till tonight."

"What's happening tonight?"

"You and me. I mean, there's a _lot_ of work to be done. Hours. And we can''t have you slacking now can we?"

"I'm sure you already know, I never slack. I'm on call 24/7. Whenever they need me, I have to be here. And as a valued customer, it is my duty to make your stay as enjoyable as possible. I wouldn't dream of neglecting you."

"So, 9 o'clock then?"

"9 o'clock."

"Fantastic. Thank you so much!"

"Just doing my job, Seth Olegovich."


	2. Chapter 2

- "suka blyad" (pronounced sue-ka blyad) and "eto pizdetz" (pronounced "eta pizdyetz") are very popular and very strong Russian curse terms. I don't need to warn anyone to exercise caution when using them.

- "Do devet vchera" is pronounced W"doh dyev-yet fchira".

- I do not own anything from Red Eye. Copyright Wes Craven, Carl Ellsworth et al.

* * *

"So," she said, unbuttoning his shirt as he undid the zip of her pencil skirt, "what does Mr. Seth Olegovich Kozlov do?"

"Private consultancy," he replied with familiar sultriness, easing the skirt down to her hips and leaving the rest to gravity. The garment pooled at her feet, and she readily shook it off, then pressed her crotch harder against his, feeling his now near full erection beginning to strain within the material. Delicious. She finished with his shirt, exposing a tantalizing strip of pale skin. He shrugged his suit jacket off, the shirt following immediately.

"Sounds mysterious."

Nude from the waist up, with a torso wiry and flawlessly toned, he was just begging to be touched, and she couldn't resist. The smooth warmth of his skin over expertly defined muscle sent little tingly shocks through her as she placed her palms flat against his pectorals, sweeping up to his collarbones and back down again.

"Let's just say it involves mitigating risks, countering threats... things like that."

"I see."

She removed her own suit jacket, and he her blouse.

"Manly man stuff, eh?" she said with a demure smile, left hand toying with the top button of his pants, right hand fondling the enticing bulge, "Manly." She clutched at his cock, squeezing as tightly as possible given his obstructions, then let go. He responded with a brief pursing of the lips, and a small "mmmh".

"That turn you on, Lisa? Manly stuff?"

She unfastened the button.

"Not particularly..."

He reached around and undid her bra, gently discarding it. Now only her increasingly sodden panties remained. He was still fully clothed from the waist down.

"But you, on the other hand," she continued, reaching out to lovingly stroke the insistent bulge in his pants as he circled her diamond-hard nipples with his thumbs, followed by a tentative little tweak, "We rarely get guests like you who are so.. enthusiastic.. in their feedback. It's invaluable to us. Now _that_ turns me on."

"Perhaps I should visit more often, then?" he smirked, kneeling down before her, then took the left side of her panties in his teeth, and carefully tugged it down below her hips. She sucked in her breath at the gentle graze of teeth against skin, remembering his unnerving, lethal bite-smile. Holding the material in its new position, he repeated the action on the right side, and then finished the process with his hands and helped her step out of them. She kicked off her shoes, and he sat down a moment to remove his, too. His socks followed suit.

"It would be our pleasure to have you. And we would certainly welcome your feedback on our other suites and... facilities. If you want to get a premium members' card with us, you can take advantage of special offers, freebies, discounts... and obviously, my time, too. I'm not a duty manager for nothing, you know."

He stood up, noticing that she was trembling.

Nervousness. Excitement. Anticipation. Her tender skin stung from it, the room's breathy air seeming somehow to burn and freeze her simultaneously.

"If only they were all as attentive and _accommodating_ as you. You really do put yourself out for your customers. It's admirable."

He ran his hands down her neck, over her shoulders, and down her arms; a light tickly sensation that gave way to a flurry of tiny, spark-like shivers. There was something undeniably magical about the way he touched her, the way with something as simple as a mere brush of the fingertips he could send her arousal sky-rocketing. Perhaps he wasn't even real? Could it be that she had gone insane and was languishing in a padded cell somewhere, drugged up to the eyeballs, imagining the whole thing; their meeting, their history, their frequent and passionate trysts, him teaching her Russian, everything? Certainly, sometimes it seemed way too good to be real.

"Well, that's what makes the Lux a cut above the rest."

He leaned forward, to her neck, her ear, inhaling deeply her scent.

"Bold words, Miss Reisert," he breathed huskily, nuzzling his face against her cheek and then her neck, "I like that in a woman. Keep it up and you might just have me sold on staying here some more."

She watched his eyes dart over her, drinking her in and admiring his handiwork; the natural blush across her nose and cheeks, the slightly goose-pimpled skin of her chest, her modest breasts a tad swollen, with nipples standing to attention... And the wetness glazing her inner thighs. Likewise, she regarded him, as she stood naked and vulnerable before him as if for the first time; well, it _was_ the first time, with Mr. Kozlov.

Baby-faced – albeit striking – but baby-faced nonetheless, and if not for the lean, sculpted muscle, he would have been classed as skinny. And he was by no means tall; 5'9 at the very most. But he possessed a rare sort of magnetism that went beyond height, features and stature. It was there in his arresting gaze, in the effortlessness of his touch, in the unspoken confidence with which he carried himself. Whatever the elusive 'it' was, it was there in abundance, in him.

His hands played with her hair as she undid his fly and then grabbed the hem of both his pants and boxer-briefs, eagerly hitching both items as low as was reachable. The roughness of her action surprised both of them.

"Boing!" she quipped as the garments descended, his hard-on springing free from its constraints.

"Hah!" he rewarded her with an overly ebullient guffaw and momentary applause.

She pressed her index and middle fingers against the upside of his cock head, feeling the organ's resistance, then exerted as much force as possible and pushed downward. His erection bobbed back up the moment her fingers moved away, eliciting chuckles from both of them.

"Now this," she said coyly, wrapping the fingers of her left hand around the engorged shaft - so lovely and hard and ready for her - "is going to require more of my personal attention later. I pride myself on being very... hands on, you see. And mouth on, too, for that matter."

"This is turning into a porno, isn't it?" he laughed, cupping his right hand under her chin and sneaking his thumb toward her mouth, which she readily accepted and began softly sucking on, "Room Service: Suite 4090. Duty Manager's Special."

"In _high definition_."

And with that, he was pulling her down onto her side, onto the expansive faux fur rug, their hands stroking one another, and their lips meeting. Delicate, tender brushing, tantalizingly slow, prolonging the magical sparks of each touch, filling her with glorious shivers and inciting moans from deep down in the pit of her throat. Jackson normally tasted of coffee, but Seth Olegovich was a sugary mixture of menthol and spearmint. Jackson's _retaW_ "it's from Japan so it must be good" lipbalm was tasteless, but Seth Olegovich's tasted of chocolate. They kissed the same way though; conscientiously, with a delicate but commanding intensity that could make her toes curl and her pussy wetter, whether leading or responding always seeking to please her as much as himself. In short; the perfect seduction.

Joined at the mouth, and with her hands in his hair and his cupping her face, it felt like they were melting into one another, and she was absolutely enthralled. He rolled her onto her back, her legs instinctively parting, but remained outside of her. Tactfully his tongue wandered into her mouth and began to slowly caress hers, to which she reciprocated with a gentle suck. He then withdrew his tongue, and between brushes of his sumptuous lips, gently nipped and tugged at her bottom lip, leaving it tingling and yearning for something harder and more forceful. God, he felt so good. She moaned her approval through the kiss, one hand skimming down to clench into his glutes, urging him impossibly closer to her as he rubbed his unsheathed cock, now slick with her juices, against her full crotch. Her ascent to clitoral orgasm had already begun, and was climbing rapidly as the current swept her under and away.

His response was to sweep onto his back so that she lay atop him, telling her to sit up.

"No penetration yet," he warned, "just ride me to orgasm."

She did as she was told, sitting over his insistent member and brushing, bucking and rocking her entire crotch against the length of him, covering him with her vaginal wetness. Delightful shudders overcame her, growing stronger with each stroke as he slid back and forth between her labia, caressing her sensitized clit. He moaned with her, his fingers kneading up and down from the dainty small of her back to the full curve of her butt cheeks.

For a moment her mind strayed, forgetting his assumed identity, and she nearly cried out his real name. She thought of his creativity during foreplay, how he surprised and inspired her, awakening her to techniques and pleasure zones she never knew existed. Her introduction to the 'dick to clit' method was on the bathroom floor, after what began as a mutual shower had quickly progressed into another impromptu make-out session. They had been laying side to side, with her top leg draped lazily over his. His left hand had caressed her cheek, smearing the droplets of water falling from her hair, whilst his right ventured forward, and then he had inserted two fingers inside her welcoming pussy. She greeted him with a ragged gasp, and as he began to massage her g-spot, before she was even aware of her own actions her right hand was snaking forward to take hold of his erection. He had grinned in surprise as she gently manipulated the gorgeously hard muscle, rubbing the head in a circular motion over her clit. It was obvious that he had derived as much pleasure from the luscious eroticism of the act as he did from the mere physical sensation. And, of course, knowing that he was the source of her pleasure just intensified the feeling.

Atop Seth Olegovich now, she managed to catch herself before letting the wrong name slip. The pleasure continued to soar, and before she knew it she was already advancing up the final incline; the part where mere pleasure of contact gave way to a rolling avalanche of building orgasmic contractions. Her heartbeat thudded incessantly like an impatient child stamping its feet, as did his. Her blood raced through her body at warp speed, searing her veins. Her head felt light and dizzy. And she had to fight to keep her eyes open.

In that effervescent orgasmic rush it was hard to imagine that anything could possibly feel better; although every time he penetrated her, moved inside her, she knew different. However hard she climaxed during foreplay, nothing compared to the feel of having him deep within her, looking into his eyes and really feeling him consummating her, more profoundly than anything she could ever imagine. Because, whether leisurely or frantic, gentle or rough, romantic or animalistic, sweet or filthy, there was always something deeper going on, and she got the sense he felt it equally.

Swept away by the bubbling force, she keeled over forwards, collapsing onto him and bucking out the remainder of her climax. And in the aftermath there she remained, breathless, delicately nipping at his jaw and sucking on his earlobe.

"I think my legs are already done for," she said, "I don't know how I'm going to manage after penetration."

"Too bad," he flashed her a cheeky grin, then drew her into a brief but passionate kiss.

"Do you want me to use a condom?" he said as he pulled away, "I'm clean, but if you're concerned about pregnancy..?"

"I'm on oral contraception."

"OK, great."

And in one fell swoop he whirled her over and onto her back once again, but instead of leaning forward over her, sat back on parted knees, then took her legs and placed them, straight up, on his shoulders. Her hands automatically gripped his thighs. Ready.

She strained her head to look up at him, and their gazes fixed as if magnetically. Deliberately slowly and tantalizingly, he began teasing her entrance. The upward angle her body was in provided him with direct access to her g-spot, and he played on this. In a tiny bit. Withdraw. In further and hit the sweet spot. Withdraw. Repeat.

He smiled at her, in one of those many ways that defied explanation.

Hit the sweet spot. Withdraw. His cock's girth caressing her inner labia and then delving into her inviting warmth.

Pure torture for her, but she could see he was adoring every single second of it.

In slightly further, then withdraw.

He paused.

And then, finally, deliciously slowly, with his eyes focused completely on hers, he penetrated her all the way.

The sheer force of pleasure as he slid fully inside and she stretched deliciously to accommodate him, caused her to throw her head back, sucking in her breath in a ragged wince. He moaned, too. Without a moment's hesitation, he began to move; slow, careful sliding all the way out, then all the way back in, so she could fully appreciate every inch and molecule of heat in that smooth, rock-hard cock.

And appreciate it she did; her vaginal nerve endings going haywire, and those brushes against her g-spot slowly guiding her towards a vaginal orgasm. He kept going, lingeringly and controlled, all the way in and all the way out, keeping her legs upright and using them as leverage. Their breathing fell into sync. His hands slid back up to her ankles, gently pushing them away from his shoulders so that he could delicately nibble and suck the back of her lower calves, and then massage them with his lips and tongue.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her moans becoming desperate little whimpers as the build up to climax intensified.

"Mmmm hmmm…" he agreed softly, his hot breath tingling against her skin.

Other than the one foot-fetishist she had encountered on a late night romp during her college years, no other guy had given any attention to anywhere below the knee as an erogenous zone. That was pure Jackson; thinking outside the box sexually, making her aware that any part of her body could be stimulated erotically if only she would open herself to it.

And finally, he began to move faster, refraining from his previous complete withdrawal. In. Nearly all the way out. Sliding… Brushing… Stroking so sweetly… As the minutes whipped by, he quickened the pace and force of his thrusts. The deliciousness intensifying, her whimpers turned to cries, to shrieks, to impassioned screams; she simply couldn't help herself. The walls of her pussy convulsed around his cock and she writhed uncontrollably, a torrid vaginal orgasm ripping mercilessly through her. Her fingernails dug into his thighs, leaving sharp indents, as the amrita spurted from her urethra.

Like a wave, the ecstasy gradually subsided, and brought her down gently, back to neutral ground. The last drops of amrita trickled out of her urethra.

So sweet had the sensation been, that her eyes stung; the tell tale precursor to tears which often came when she was utterly overwhelmed by sensation, emotion, or both. She fought to keep them back; this was Seth Olegovich after all, not Jackson. She had known the former for all of twenty minutes, so sex wasn't meant to transcend the physical. To her immense relief, the stinging subsided as quickly as it had come.

She gathered the strength to lift her head and look at him. His expression was one of intense, yet gentle, fascination. She stretched her right arm forward to touch his face, trace his lips, paint him. To say he was drop-dead gorgeous would be an understatement.

He took her hand, brushed his darkened lips against it, and then he was withdrawing from her, sweeping her up and into his arms, rising to his feet and carrying her to the floor-to-ceiling window. With one hand supporting her butt and the other the curve of her back, he hoisted her up against the glass so that her legs hooked over his hips... and, with their gazes locked, slid smoothly into her, right to the hilt.

An almost pained cry escaped her. Her eyes clamped shut momentarily, in conjunction with clenching her vaginal muscles around him, trying to keep him still for a few seconds whilst her body adjusted to what seemed like a dizzying height. Upon her release, he began to move, sliding back and fourth a few times, and then immediately changing tack , swivelling his hips and stirring his member within her. She moaned rapturously, not anywhere close to orgasm yet – although had she not already climaxed only a few minutes ago it would be a different story - but not even needing to be as the position itself sufficed. That, and whenever he fixed her with _that look_; the one that made it crystal clear who was in control at that precise moment, who was between her and the rest of the world and had the power to protect or ruin her. Truth be told, she loved their little power games and got off on them as much as he did. To submit to him – whether as Seth Olegovich or Jackson - was something verging on the divine.

To further enhance the excitement he alternated both techniques, experimenting with differences in depth and vigour, from tender and slow brushes, to fast, ravenous and forceful thrusts, to pounding with all his might whilst flitting between ferocious eye to eye contact and kissing her neck passionately. The harder and faster he went, the more crazed her vocal emissions became; high pitched little yelps and mewls, and the occasional little squeak from the glass at her back whenever she shifted slightly.

Conscious of time restrictions, he allowed her only a few more minutes in that position, before carrying her to the commodious white sofa and laying down backwards with her atop him. Kissing frantically, they ended up with his legs parted and her between them, legs together, her vaginal walls hugging his sex so super-tight and snug. Clutching her butt cheeks, he began thrusting up into her at a moderately languid pace, her tightness in this position enough to bring him over the edge if he wasn't careful. They established a fluid synchronicity, her body responding to him perfectly with her hips rising and falling against his thrusts to deepen the contact, turning mini circles and grinding her crotch against his on the downward strokes.

*_Dear sweet God_,* was all she could think. *_Dear sweet God_.* How did he manage to do this to her?

Her clit had obviously recovered enough to acknowledge stimulation. Moaning uncontrollably, she licked and lapped and panted against his neck as her fingers tangled themselves in his hair, the tightness of her sex and his depth within her almost too much to bear. Guided by his thrusts, her vaginal and clitoral pleasure spurred each other on, but it was her mental pleasure that pushed her to the finish line sooner than expected. Albeit both of them playing a part, she was nevertheless fucking Jackson Rippner on her break, in her own hotel. It was nothing less than scandalous.

*_Wait a minute..._* A near-thought zipped through her mind, and for an instant she was filled with a horrific sense of dread. There was something about today that she had forgotten and that Jackson either would have had no way of knowing or would have likely dismissed. It skirted her memory, threatening to reveal itself, but then...

His legs clasped hers, hooking over her ankles and constricting, trapping her. The sensation grew sweeter yet, stronger, bolder, and suddenly there she was, falling without a parachute from 30,000 feet to the raging sea below. Waves of an astoundingly crystal blue rushing up to meet her and blast her to smithereens. In pieces, she would go under. And there was a whirlpool, to pull her even further down, to swallow her completely, beyond all boundaries and beyond all hope...and... Helpless, she crested, squirming and wriggling against him as he pounded up into her, her lower body gripped by involuntary ecstatic spasms.

Exhausted and panting, she went limp, and he simply held her until she stabilized.

"Think you can manage any more?" he whispered, his voice all sugary sparkles.

Whether there was any underlying meaning to that question she couldn't ascertain. One thing she knew for sure, though, was that she was no lightweight. If he could give her more, she would always take it; pleasurable, painful, agonizingly sensitive or close to numb, that fact of him being the one doing it to her was enough to keep her desire burning. Perhaps he really had turned her into a nymphomanic? God help her.

"Of course I can," she replied, kissing her way from behind his earlobe, across his jaw, cheek, and finally to his lips.

Just as they melted into tantalizingly delicate lip to lip combat, there came a noise, like...

Squeaking on glass. The floor-to-ceiling windows, to be exact. And voices. Two. Male.

"Oh. Shit.." she murmured, pulling away from the kiss.

This particular sofa happened to be window-facing. Had to be, didn't it. Yup.

He shot her a confused expression.

The squeaking continued, and the copulating pair both looked towards the clear glass not three meters away. It was one thing to get frisky on a plane full of strangers and only properly so when away from view, but another entirely to get caught_ in flagrante delicto_ by two window washers who you knew on a first name basis. Not because it was embarrassing – in fact, that didn't worry her in the slightest - but because it could potentially cost her her job. Everyone had a camera phone to hand nowadays; it wasn't out of the question that the window washers, friendly as they were with her, might have been filming the proceedings.

"Oh...hey!" Seth Olegovich chirped, waving and making a thumbs up sign at the two obviously amused men.

Lisa buried her face in his neck.

"Suka blyad!" she spat, without even realizing what she was saying, "Suka blyad! Eto pizdyetz! Suka!"

Her shagging partner burst out laughing, ruffling her now dishevelled hair comfortingly.

"A tih chto nye znayesh mat', Lisa?" he cracked joyously. _What do you mean you don't know mat'?_

It was only then that it registered; she had been swearing in Russian. Automatically. If not for her current predicament she would have punched the air in glee. Too bad she couldn't celebrate this little achievement in all its glory.

"Ugh," she grunted, "I am so fucking stupid! How could I forget the window washers would be here today?"

"It happens. I wouldn't worry about it."

"But the thing is, I know those guys. We get on really well. The one on the right – Gary – he's been washing windows here for about a decade. I'm sure he's seen some things in his time but never, never, the duty manager having sex with a customer. I could get fired for this."

"Could. But you won't," he said gently, stroking her hair in attempt to reassure her.

"How can you be so sure?"

"Far as I know, you have an impeccable track record here. And you say you get on well with them, so they don't have a reason to use this against you unless they're militantly by-the-book... which they're not, I presume?"

"I don't know."

"They clean windows. You said it yourself, they've seen a lot in their time; probably far worse than this. Plus it's your break, and your superiors know that, even if those guys don't. One little transgression _on your break_ won't amount to much, even if they _do_ talk. Look at you, working a double shift today, doing four people's jobs at once, and doing them damn well at that. You're much too valuable to lose."

"I'd love to believe that, but..."

"No buts, Lisa. Look at me."

She obeyed, the firmness of his tone, coupled with the one filling her pussy, unmercifully arousing. And the way he said her name... Even against her better judgement she found herself responding to it in ways that would have previously sickened her. Their eyes met, his gaze locking in tight and capturing hers in that jarringly intimate way; the way that said she would never escape him, and that, furthermore, she would never _want_ to. She hoped so.

"So long as you're back at the front desk in half an hour, there's nothing to worry about. Besides, what's done is done. So for now just relax and let me _fuck you_.." he thrust hard whilst enunciating the last two words, "..into oblivion. OK?"

He was right, and she knew it. And even if he wasn't, there was no arguing with him when he made her feel so damn good. It was preposterous, but she could overlook practically anything if only for such intense contact with him. In the face of primal desire – and admit it or not, psychological need - the rest of the world paled in significance, at least for the duration of the sexual act.

"OK?" he repeated, brushing his lips against hers.

She nodded, before plunging back in.

Still connected, both at the mouth and groin, somehow they succeeded in moving from the couch to behind the couch, out of view of the two interlopers. He withdrew from her, picked her up, turned her over and lay her flat on the rug, face down. He leant over the sofa to grab a cushion, then handed it to her. Being already well-versed in the use of props, she immediately knew what to do, slipping it beneath her pelvis so that her crotch was at an upward sloping angle. Her lover crawled over her, trailing zingy butterfly kisses from the soles of her feet all the way to her jaw, parting his legs on either side of her. Propping himself up on his right elbow, he slipped his left hand beneath her to further support her pelvis and tilt it that fraction higher, providing direct access to her g-spot. He began teasing her vulva, sliding his cock head between her gleaming labia and then pushing a tiny bit in before retreating. That, too, was pure Jackson; torturing her and making her beg. And whilst it was maddening, it excited her no end and got her libido thoroughly revved up again. Not that it had been flagging, though. Rue the day when that happened.

"Please," she whimpered, wanton, twisting her upper body as much as possible so that she could look at him, "Ja...Mr. Kozlov... please."

He gave a small laugh at her slip up, then conceded, entering her with an exquisite moan to which she couldn't help but echo. She clenched her thigh muscles and clasped her legs together again, contracting around his member. Her body trembled in delight at the friction as he began to move in a delectable slow grind. In this position she was simply too tight for him to thrust at speed. He bore down on her fully, his whole body covering her, and his right hand worked its way underneath her and latched onto her right breast, kneading, pinching and massaging rhythmically. Her moans amplified with the sensation, and although he was fully blanketting her he wasn't heavy enough to prevent her from pumping her hips against him , letting the depth of their union compensate for the restriction in movement.

*_Oh God. Oh God. Oh God...*_

She thought back to Jackson, and how they had executed this same position only last week on her father's living room floor, in broad daylight with the curtains open, when he had been out for the day and asked her to babysit his three cats. The house had become their playground, their passion beginning in the kitchen against the fridge, then into the living room, then midway up the stairs, followed by the same wall he'd had her pinned against during their first scrap, and culminating in her own pink bedroom. It felt almost sinful, sacrilegious, to do it in this house, and especially her bedroom... which was why both had totally gotten off on it. Even as a teenager she had never brought boyfriends home, sex taking place at their house or elsewhere. Thus, yet another first was added to the tally.

And then, she recalled moments of their first copulation, when he had pulled her down on top of him as he lay backwards. Her neck stinging from the wounds he had inflicted there, she had sat up straight, looking down at him. His gaze was steady, fixed, watching her, anticipating her next move.

A naughty glint flashed in her eyes. She had grinned seductively.

He had liked it, grinning right back at her with an expression bordering on downright _evil_ . Battle tactics, surely.

She leant forward like a sphinx, pressing her upper arms against him. With her face only millimetres from his, and her hair draping over him, she had lapped at his slightly bruised lips, arching her back and lifting her hips until his cock slipped completely out of her. Of course, the emptiness was immeasurable agony for her too, and she was sure he knew that – he seemed to know her more than she did herself – but, with his lack of control, he would be the one to need _her_ this time. So, she had done nothing.

His smile became of a cheeky one. Just as she had thought she was in control, he had taken her completely by surprise; lunging upwards, grabbing her and forcing her onto her back, pinning her beneath him once again, and penetrating her.

Oh, so sweet. How she had missed that fullness.

And then, he kept still, gaze locked intently on hers, breathing and rapid heart beat in time with hers.

But she struggled, harder than she ever had, resolute and refusing to surrender, despite the pleasure. Dear God, yes she wanted to be taken by him and to give in to him completely, but…

But what? She didn't know. Or maybe she knew too much. All she could be sure of at that moment was that she just…. wanted to fight. Fight him for what he had done to her, or fight herself for finally surrendering to him, or maybe even fight to forget if only for a moment that she was sharing intimacy with him. Because it was wrong that she was fucking him, wasn't it?

He'd had to acquiesce a little, because with his full strength he could easily suppress her movements. He let her writhe against him, thrust up into him, wrestle with him, snap at him like a shark, and flail her arms around in his grip like the wild thing she now was. Because of him. Of his making, she was vicious. He was manipulating her and it didn't matter one iota.

And then, he had let her push him up, and he had laid back and let her straddle him, teasing him to unbearable levels by slipping the head of his cock into the sauna of her opening, and then retracting. She had kept up the act for an impressive several minutes, driving him absolutely insane with desire to penetrate her, before surrendering to her own desire and sliding all the way down.

She wanted to do likewise to Seth Olegovich tonight and see just how long both of them could stand it.

Right now, however, their current position was proving too much for her. There were times when her body would let orgasms crescendo, one after another; and there were times when having one orgasm would cut short the incline time of any successors, and she would be on the edge within a few minutes. When they hit, they weren't necessarily any less powerful, but they often occurred much too quickly, disallowing her and Jackson ample time to enjoy the position for what it was. Still, it was a minor inconvenience at best. At least he was able to make her cum – both clitorally _and_ vaginally (aka by her g-spot), for that matter - which was more than could be said of any other sleeping buddy.

She crossed her ankles, increasing the pressure to a now stifling level and further impeding his movements. It wasn't enough, however, to delay the impending deluge, and seconds later she became a livewire. Overcome by those now familiar, frenzied contractions, her body jolting beneath him as her vaginal muscles went into violent spasms. She clawed at the rug like a possessed cat, shrieking almost like one too, as the liquid squirted out of her urethra. It may have sounded ridiculous but her vocal chords really did develop a mind of their own during sex. Pre-Jackson, she could never consider herself a screamer. Nowadays, however, she could put porn stars to shame. Good thing was, her man loved it, and would always endeavour to make her reach her noisiest.

Despite barely being able to move, her tumultuous orgasm obviously shattered his willpower to hold on. He came, kissing her neck feverishly and moaning her name like a mantra - "Lisa... Lisa... oh fuck, Leese..." - as he ejaculated and her sex rhythmically clenched around him. Hearing her pet name, it was her turn to chuckle. He'd lost it, right at the very last instant. They were square now.

* * *

After tidying herself up and learning to walk again, she made it back to front desk with barely five minutes to spare. Teetering along on heels that would normally have no problem running in, Cynthia and Lois eyed her suspiciously. The fact that she remained a little flushed and breathless only compounded the situation further.

"Back in the nick of time!" she panted, overcome with relief.

"Have fun?" replied Cynthia with feigned nonchalance, making Lisa fear for a moment that word had already gotten around.

"Well, I..." she began, struck by her unusual complete lack of preparedness.

The bubbly redhead cut her off, and in a low whisper, continued; "When you didn't return within half an hour, I twigged. He's the one, isn't he? Your mystery guy whose identity you were keeping top secret?"

"Cynthia!" Lisa shot her a warning glare, "Please say you didn't tell Lois."

"Of course not!" the younger girl protested, looking somewhat hurt. Lois had continued going about her business, now oblivious to the pair's conversation.

"Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean it like that. It's just..."

Her colleague slung an arm around her, grinning girlishly.

"Secret's safe with me, Boss."

A pause, and then...

"Well, at least that solves the mystery of who he's seeing tonight. And I can tell her right to her face that I am very, very envious."

"You should be," she smiled wickedly.

"That good, huh?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Oh...!"

Lisa's phone beeped obtrusively, and she hurriedly snatched it from her pocket, a text springing up to greet her.

"Interesting conversation with Gary and Idris," it read. "Do devet vchera. Seth."

* * *

**Author's random wonder note **

Errrr, so I kinda turned Lisa into a rabid nymphomaniac. Whoops. I just wanted to capture that crazy phase of a relationship where you're literally high on your lover and it seems like you can't get enough of them. The dialogue may not be realistic, but the hormone circus phase is. If only these things lasted in real life, eh (but then I'd probably be too 'busy' to write this fic).

Random 2nd part of wonder note:

I don't exercise to music (I don't exercise, period; shame on me lol) but I write to it. I find it helps keep me motivated. Thus, this story would not have been possible if it were not for the following tracks, often on repeat, some of which relate to Jackson and Lisa's relationship, and others which are completely arbitrary. They're all findable online.

In alphabetical order:

Above & Beyond – Sun & Moon (the Others remix)

Black Spider – Save Your Life (Warp brothers remix)

deadmau5 – Strobe

Des Mitchell - Welcome to the Dance (Airscape remix)

DJ Shadow – You Can't Go Home Again

Dr Willis & Dark By Design – God of Abraham (derb remix)

Ellie Goulding – Starry Eyed

Florence & the Machine – Howl

Four Tet – Everything is Alright

High Contrast – Return of Forever (John B remix)

Hybrid – Finished Symphony

iAMX – Mercy

iSquare – Hey Sexy Lady (Skrillex remix)

Jose Amnesia – the Eternal

Judge Jules & BK – Seizure

Moenia - Lado Animal

Pacific Link – Planetary Collapse (Luca Antolini mix)

Push – Strange World

Rob Aker – Dad's Home

Skrillex vs Katy Perry - E.T. (Bugzz Equinox remix)

Sparfunk & Joe Solo - Rapture

Swarms – Spectre

Viktor Tsoi – Posledni Geroi


End file.
